


Do I Wanna Know?

by SkeletonBird



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic Sasha James, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Everybody Lives, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gen, He/Him and They/Them Pronouns for Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, I have a lot planned, Injury, M/M, Trans Martin Blackwood, Trans Melanie King, buckle in folks, its angsty but they're all really good friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkeletonBird/pseuds/SkeletonBird
Summary: Martin, Tim, and Sasha run from their lives, leaving their respective homes behind. Their safe haven becomes a manor in the woods that seems unaffected by whatever powers are lurking outside. All is not what it seems, and they haven't escaped their pasts just yet.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, ish - Relationship, queer platonic relationship - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in end notes.

With every second, the fog grew thicker. At first, it was merely a wisp, curling around Martin’s ankles and slowing his movements. Soon, too soon, it was a cloud of deep sadness that wrapped around him like a blanket, consuming his body in its unearthly mist. Martin’s heartbeat against his ribcage, frantic. His fear of a heart attack was veiled by the overwhelming hopelessness that seeped into his very bones. 

His mother was dead. After all those years of care and nurturing, she was dead, and Martin had no one. He was used to having one person, even if they hated him. He knows that is foolish now. His mother never cared for him, not really. If he had disappeared into this fog while she was still alive, she would not miss him. She would not notice that he had gone missing, as the difference between him being there and him being gone meant very little to her. 

Martin took a step forward, his heel digging into the damp earth beneath him. When had he gone outside? Where was he? The fog closed in like a hungry beast, preying on the victim of its choice. That victim was Martin, but he did not want to die. His limbs moved before he could fully register it, and he was off like a shot, bolting without eyes as the fog obscured his vision. 

He was not in the cobblestone streets of the town he had lived in all his life. He was not in the endless fields that surrounded his town, either. No, Martin was somewhere else, a place designed for the Lukas’ to break those they choose. Martin had heard of the family. Of course he had; they just about ran the little town he lived in. They lived in a manor on top of a hill that seemed to grow steeper the closer you got to it. 

The townspeople rarely ever heard a word from the family, but they all knew the order. The few times that the Lukas' made their way into town, everyone knew what to do. Curtains were closed, and doors were bolted shut. The fog would close in against the houses, and those the Lukas' chose would fade. After their visits, the people would wake up with extra rooms in their houses for people they remembered little of.

Martin had experienced this first hand with his father, who was barely there from the start. The man had disappeared in the night when the fog soothed them to sleep. In the morning, the remaining Blackwoods woke up and went about their days. It had taken Martin three years to remember who went missing. He and everyone else had forgotten an entire person.

That was not to happen to him. He may not have anyone else left, but there were people. People that lived and breathed in that town with him. He could befriend one of them, maybe two. Without the stress of caring for his mother, Martin could be a good friend; he was sure of it.

The fog curled around his throat, and laughter rang out around him as these thoughts rolled through his mind. A face appeared in front of him, wrinkled with age and stress. Martin stopped in his tracks, nearly running into the man. He could only be glad that he found someone else in this lonely fog, and the relief nearly sent him down to the ground. 

What caught his attention, however, was the whistle the man wore around his neck. It was old and rusted, but Martin was sure it could be heard for miles, further than any other whistle in the world. The man’s smile looked dangerous, and Martin took a step back. His foot caught on something, and he lost his breath as his back hit the dirt. It was hard and dry, but he sunk into it. The ground called for him to fall, to let in the despair of his undeniable solitude. 

Martin rolled onto his front, the earth sticking to his body like strings as he fought against the bindings. He was lonely, yes, but it had always been this way. He was used to it at this point, and that meant he didn't need the dirt or the fog. He could survive in his melancholy without it. 

Another laugh rang out behind him, sharp and full of malice. _You’re going the wrong way,_ the man from before whispered, his low voice echoing against the empty of the fog. Martin did not listen to him, as the voices were deceitful in that place. He ran and ran forward, following the string that tugged him in all directions. What it was, he was not sure, but he trusted the feeling much more than he trusted the Lukas’ and their tricks. 

He was blind, unable to see through the thick whiteness that covered his eyes. Hands grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him back a step before slipping off of him like water. Voices, so many voices. They were all speaking at once, telling Martin horrid things that compelled him to stay in that place with them. But the Lukas family was not the only one with a story. The townspeople often spoke of an entity that could push and weave and control your very being until you were falling over to complete their every whim. The Lukas’ were not those creatures.

In his lifetime, Martin had gained a useful skill. When he wanted them to, words flowed in through one ear and out the other without any translation. He would often do this when his mother went on one of her rants. Her words would turn to static, and he would not care what she said because he could not hear her. Martin used this skill now, pushing every part of him to block out the fog and focus on getting out. 

There was something in the distance, a shadow in the midst of all the white. As Martin got closer, he deciphered not only one color but many. They swirled together in a great pattern that he could not understand. It was a gate, he thought. A great big gate that led out of the fog land and into something else that may be just as bad. 

Another hand landed on his shoulder, but it did not flow away this time. The man from before appeared at his side, shaking his head. “You don’t want this Martin, I assure you.” The man looked down at him, and despite his above average height, Martin felt small. “You have no idea what awaits you over there. You wouldn’t last a second. We can take care of you here. Just accept it.”

As Martin looked into the eyes of Peter Lukas, he saw pain. He saw fear and despair, and everything he did not want to be. With a shake of his head, he stepped forward. Lukas’ hand fell from his shoulder, and the man frowned “No,” Martin said. His voice made no sound against the fog, but Lukas understood.

Suddenly, that gentle face turned angry, the change as swift as a wave changing course. “The fog doesn’t like unwilling guests. But I assure you, _Martin Blackwood_ , your time here is not over.” With that, Martin went blind again, and his mind clouded over. Lukas was gone when he opened his eyes, and the gate stood before him.

Its pattern hurt his eyes, and he didn't spend too much time looking at it. Martin walked forward, trying to assure himself that it would be alright. Lukas was gone, and he could handle this on his own. Every breath was difficult, and his lungs rattling in his chest with every exhale. He breathed in and held it for a bit before letting go, using the technique he had used to stave off attacks of panic over the years.

He made his steps measured and sure as he walked toward the gate. It was much further away than his eyes told him. The distance seemed to stretch as every step did nothing to draw the silhouette closer. Martin might have believed this was all just in his head, but Lukas had seen it too, and that man was very real, indeed. 

Air left Martin’s lungs once more as his next step took him outside of the fog. It stopped at a fixed point, an invisible wall that kept all that loneliness at bay. He dropped onto his knees and gasped, his mind finally clear again. The fog clung to him, striking away from the wall to reach him, only to be shot back by the invisible force. The gate was much smaller than it had seemed so far away, and Martin thought that that was strange. The whole situation was strange, though, so he decided not to dwell on it.

The gate was too much and not much to look at at the same time. Its structure was quite simple. A set of vertical bars connected at the top and bottom by horizontal bars. The door itself was circular, and Martin knew he would have to swing himself through the little opening. The colors, though, they twisted and turned, changing without movement. Martin strained against it, unwilling to look away from the sight before him. Instead of watching the colors, he looked for a handle.

Finding none, nor a lock, Martin took a chance. He touched his palm to the cold metal and pushed. The hinges groaned with a human-like sound of pain as the door swung open. The metal from the bars stung his hand, and Martin pulled away before it could get worse. His hands were shaking in earnest, but out of low temperature as well as fear, now. 

Wanting to get it over with, Martin took the topmost bar between his hands and hefted his body upwards through the hole. The longer he held on, the more it burned, but he did not let go. His hands were frozen to the iron, and once his feet touched the ground below, he had a difficult time letting go. Skin peeled from the palm of his hand, making them moulted and bloody. Martin wanted to scream, but he found that he could not, as his throat was also frozen shut. He exhaled loudly through his nose and panted through his mouth, trying desperately to ignore the pain.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, clenching his fists and ignoring the burst of blood that flowed from the pressure. There had to be humans somewhere out here, as the gate did not let out to a deep forest or an empty stretch of land. No, this was a settlement he had run into; it was just a bit barren at the moment. 

A yellow moon shined in the sky, stark against the dark blue. It was a beam shining onto Martin as he walked through those empty streets that he knew once had people flowing through them. It was just nighttime, he told himself, at home, everyone went into their homes when the sky went dark. What worried him, though, was the lack of lights. Usually, houses that did not fall asleep at the break of daylight kept the lights in their houses on so that the dark would not invade their homes, as well. That was not the case for that town.

The rows and rows of perfectly crafted houses were well cared for, yes, but bare. There was no life in it, and that scared Martin more than it should have. Music echoed in his ears, and he found his shoulders relaxing. People, there were people; he just had to follow the sound. He didn’t think he had been walking in that fog for very long, but his feet felt like fire, and every step hurt.

As the music grew louder, the darkness did as well. It pushed against Martin at all sides, much like the fog had not too long ago. It resembled it too closely, he needed to find the music before the dark, or the fog or something else got him. Laughter began to filter out of one of the houses, two pitches of sound playing as though through a tape. For some reason, Martin was not be bothered by this. The building looked like a pub, and the lights from inside shone brighter than the moon above.

He wondered how he hadn’t seen it before, as it shined so brightly through the cutting midnight darkness. Martin found himself pulling on the door to that pub, his injured palms protesting all the while. The pain made him want to stop, but he did not. The door was pushed open, and Martin stepped inside, stopping short at the scene revealed. 

The bar was filled with people, crowded together in the small room. All had drinks in their hands, and all were looking at the same spot. They laughed and laughed, clipped sounds that flowed out of their closed mouths. On the raised platform taking up the corner of the room, two figures bounced around. Martin was not entirely sure what the show was, only that it was very funny and that he was laughing.

The figures on stage creaked and groaned with every movement, their wooden joints protesting the movements they pulled. One of them was crying, soft tears falling down their face as the strings that connected them to the top of the stage moved them around. The other, who looked much like the first, was smiling very widely. Martin couldn’t see a hint of emotion behind their painted eyes, and it was like being dunked in freezing water. 

He needed to help them, that much he was sure of. The crying one was aware of what was happening to him, and Martin couldn’t leave him to… whatever that was. The crowd was much too thick for him to walk through, so he took an alternative route. Any other time, he might have felt weird walking behind the bar. It had always felt a bit like a forbidden spot, only for the bartenders to dwell in. Desperate times called for desperate measures, though, and Martin lifted the heavy wooden panel that gave him entrance. 

A pocket knife sat on one of the counters, and Martin picked it up as he passed. It only had three features, a corkscrew, a bottle opener, and a knife for breaking the seals of wine. He could only hope that the dull edge of the knife would be enough to break the ropes that cut into the marionettes skin. Skin? Was it skin? Martin couldn’t tell.

He walked through the pub with ease now that the crowds were separate from him. The joyful music that the people on stage danced to jolted against his skull every time it changed beat. He was beginning to realize that everything in this new world had a bit of compulsion weaved into it. Those melodies struck him to his core, speaking to the depths of his mind. 

It told him that he deserved a break. That he had been walking for a very long time, and sitting down for a spell wouldn’t hurt. The dancers were very nice to watch, and he could rest until their act was over and the next one started.

Martin was able to push these thoughts to the back of his mind, much like he had done with the fog not too long ago. At least, he didn’t think it had been very long. He hopped the bar once he’d gotten as far as it spanned. There were very few people between him and the stage, and he didn’t hesitate to climb onto it once he caught the pleading looks the man with emotions was sending him. 

Cutting the strings was very difficult, as they were thickly woven, and the man couldn’t stop moving. Now that Martin was closer, he could see the bloody hooks that dug into the man’s arms, legs, and neck, keeping the rope secured. He was not sure where the blood came from, though, as the man was not made of flesh. Those hooks dug directly into wooden limbs, hanging on tight. 

He could panic about this later, Martin assured himself. Meanwhile, people made of wood weren't so weird. He could handle it just fine. 

The rope that held up the man’s right arm snapped away with a loud noise. It thrashed without a marionette to control, nearly hitting Martin many times. He went about this four other times, sawing through the rope with the dull knife for minutes before the material finally broke. The limbs unconnected to the ceiling fell limp against the man’s body, and he collapsed to the floor once the last string split apart.

Martin turned him so that his face wasn’t pressed against the floor and went to help the other person. The process was more difficult with the emotionless man, as he did not want to be cut free. The arm that Martin was able to cut free lashed out, striking him in the face. He reeled backwards, surprised by the force of the hit. The rough wood left splinters in his skin as the paper machete that covered the man peeled away. 

He ended up near the first person, kneeling on the floor and watching the still thrashing marionette as it danced. The crowd behind him did not seem to notice him, although some muttered angrily about half of the act being gone. A voice, a real voice, broke through all of that, hoarse from disuse and dehydration. “It’s not him anymore,” the man said, bitter tears still falling from his eyes. He was looking at the other person on stage. "I- I dunno if he can be saved.” The resemblance was clear now. They were family.

Martin didn’t know this person, and he’d never been good at giving words of comfort. “I’m sorry,” he said pathetically. He tried not to wince when the man turned toward him, their eyes meeting. 

“Sasha,” he said, “I have to check on her.”

“Wh-who's that?” Martin’s eyes scan the crowd, although he doesn’t know who he’s looking for. He feels a bit bad for being glad that he finally has someone to talk to. Someone made of wood, yes, but still real. 

“She isn’t here. She’ll be in her library.” The man pushed himself onto his elbows, wincing at the motion. “Shit,” he hisses. 

Martin knee-walks forward, carefully approaching. The man didn’t look particularly angry, but his brother had been violent, and Martin would take the chance of being hit like that again. “H-here, let me help.” He presses his hands to the man’s back, pushing his front forward. The wood felt warm under the thick performers clothing, and Martin felt his frozen hands thaw. 

Once the man’s front was off the ground, the rest of him went easily, and he held onto Martin as his knees quaked beneath him. They wait like that for a minute, the wooden man watching him with careful eyes. “H-how are you like this. Everyone else is gone.” His eyes swept over the people in the audience. He paused every once in a while when they caught on someone in particular. Martin realized suddenly that this man knew these people. All of them.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I-- I’m not from here. So, that-- that may have something to do with it.” That gate flashed in his mind, cold and hard to look at, colors spiralling away against the night sky. 

“What do you mean?” The man asked, wood shifting over his eyes in the mock action of raising an eyebrow. “We don’t get visitors.” There was so much certainty in the words that it sent a shiver down Martin's spine.  
“I- I don’t _know_. I was in the fog, and then I was at the gate. It led here.”

A hand gripped Martin’s wrist with the strength of a non-human. “You know how to get out of here.” It was not a question, and all Martin could do is nod. “You have to get us out. You have to.”

The man did not plead. His voice was thick with fear and anger, and Martin felt as though he didn't have much of a choice. “I would like to get out of here as well. I’m afraid it isn’t very safe.” A scoff sounds from the man, and Martin clarifies. “Aside from the obvious, of course. I think there is someone after me.”

“Fuck,” the man said. “Our only key to escape has a fucking target on his back. Shit.”

Martin found himself apologizing again, but the man only waved him off. “I don’t suppose it’s your fault.” His eyes squint. “Unless it is?” Martin was pretty sure that the Lukas’ focus on him wasn’t because of anything he did, so he shakes his head. “Fine then, I guess we’re going with you, anyway.”

“Y-you don’t even know what’s after me,” Martin said, his shoulders curling inwards. “It will be dangerous for you and… Sasha, I presume?”

“Yes, Sasha. And I don’t care. Anywhere is safer than this place.”

All at once, Martin was reminded that they were still on that bloody stage, with the eyes watching them and the recorded laughter. One last thing before they left, though. “Wh-what about him?” He points at the man still dancing around them, stitched on smile holding fast.

“They took him. All of him. Danny isn’t there anymore.” The man shook his head before Martin could say anything. “Don’t apologize.”

Martin only nodded, holding onto the man’s arm as he walked unsteadily toward the bar. They took the same route out that Martin took in, leaving the crowd of not-people behind once and for all. He wanted to ask what happened to them, to this place, but he didn’t think it was the best time. 

After a few long seconds of silence, he spoke, “I-I’m Martin,” he said.

The man at his side did not say anything for a minute or so. “They took mine,” he said. “I’m sure Sasha will be able to tell you.”

“Wh-why did they only take yours?” _Who are they? _He wanted to ask, but he didn’t.__

__“It’s a part of their whole thing,” the man explained. He was looking upward at that yellow moon, eyes shining as the light bounced off of them. “They want you to remember who you’re missing.”_ _

__“R-right.” Martin understood, although the fog’s approach had been a bit different. It had wanted him to forget, to lose himself in the soft melodies of the fog, only half aware that he wasn’t going to be missed as his mind receded further. He shuddered once more, the trembling of his hands bringing the man’s attention on him. “Nothing,” he said, looking forward, and ignoring the searching gaze of the man he’d freed._ _

__“She’s this way,” was all the man said, pointing left at the small intersection of roads they found themselves in._ _

__A few street signs were standing amongst the tall buildings and cracked pavement. Their words were incomprehensible, though, and Martin hadn’t a clue as to where they were. The same could not be said for the woodman as he led them forward with steady and sure steps. Soon, their journey halted as they stopped in front of one of the smaller buildings._ _

__The library was made of bricks, painted a nice blue color that had faded over time. Two large windows sat on either side of the black wooden door, and Martin could see lines and lines of books lining the room inside. The lights were off, and he couldn’t see any movement from inside. It looked abandoned, much like the rest of the town. That did not bother his companion, who knocked on the door without a second thought._ _

__In seconds, the door was thrust open. A woman, Sasha, stood in the opening. Her eyes washed over each of them in turn, her lips thinning and her nostrils flaring. The light hair that hung around her face was unbrushed, and her clothing looked several days old. She did not seem to have a care for Martin as her eyes caught on the man. “No…” she whispered. The man’s eyes filled with tears once more, and he nodded. “Oh, god.”_ _

__The two were hugging, and Martin felt as though he were intruding on a very personal moment. “Sash,” the man said, cheek pressed against her hair. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__Sasha bumped her forehead against the man’s shoulder, shaking her head. “Don’t apologize. Don’t you dare.” The tone was very different from those of which the man had said only minutes ago. “I thought I’d lost you. You were stuck in that god awful place, and I couldn’t get to you…”_ _

__She looked up, frowning. “Where’s Danny?” The look of dread on the man’s face was enough of an answer, and suddenly, the two were crying._ _

__Martin looked up at the sky, not wanting to impinge any more than he already was. That moon shone down on them, a spotlight. Unease flowed through him, and he faced the two once more. “We shouldn’t be out here,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. Any louder, and someone else would have heard them. Who that would be in that deserted street, Martin didn’t know._ _

__“Who are you?” Sasha’s voice was sharp, and she put herself in between him and the man Martin still didn’t know the name of. She was not a very large woman, and Martin held much height over her, but she looked ready to fight him._ _

__“I- er. I got him out?” He hadn’t spoken to a woman apart from his mother in a long time, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do._ _

__Sasha looked to her friend to confirm this, tilting her head when he nodded. “Alright, then,” she said. “You’re right. Let's go inside.”_ _

__It was very dark inside the library, but no one moved to turn on a light. “I’m Martin.” He felt like a broken record, saying the words for a second time so soon. He held out a hand, wincing as Sasha only looked at it._ _

__“Alright, Martin. I’m Sasha.” Her hands clenched at her sides. “You’re not from here. Where did you come from?”_ _

__Martin thought for a moment. “A bad place,” he said finally._ _

__That made Sasha laugh. “Welcome to the party, I guess.” Her expression shifted very fast, and she was serious again. “We’ve heard the stories, just like everyone else. What kind of place was it?”_ _

__It was a test, Martin knew, and if he gave the wrong answer he would fail it. The stories she spoke of were probably similar to the one’s he’d heard as a child. She was probably making sure he didn’t come from a more violent or disgusting background. He could be made of worms just as easily as the other man was made of wood. Lord, these stories were _real_ ; Martin was having a hard time believing it._ _

__“It-- It was mostly normal,” he said, choking up. “Everyone lived their lives, going to work and school, buying things in the market, y’know, normal stuff.” He ignored the man’s little ‘actually, we don’t,’ and continued. “But when the Lukas’ came down from their house, things changed. They never had a schedule, and those unfortunate enough to be caught outside got taken. Those who took precautions did, as well. No one was safe._ _

__“The fog, it-- it was so _thick_. You can’t see a thing in it, and those who are caught don’t get out.”_ _

__“Except you,” Sasha said wisely._ _

__“Except me,” Martin confirmed._ _

__Sasha nodded. “That’s why Tim brought you here, yeah? You know how to get out?”_ _

__Tim, that was his name. Neither Martin nor Sasha mentioned the little flinch Tim gave when his name was spoken._ _

__“Well, I- I know _a_ way, I think. But we can’t take the same path I did. I can’t go back there.”_ _

__“Right, fine,” Sasha said, “but there is somewhere you can take us that is not here.”_ _

__“Yes, there is.” Martin felt himself trembling at the thought of going back to that gate. His plan may be a stupid one, but it felt like the only option. They’d follow that fence until it gave way to another gate: another exit. He wouldn’t go anywhere near the Lukas’, but he would get out nonetheless. Hopefully._ _

__“Okay, Martin.” Sasha smiled dryly. “I’m not going to trust you, but I’ll trust your information.”_ _

__He couldn't find anything wrong with this. This world didn’t equal trust; he knew that now. “Alright.”_ _

__“Great,” Tim clapped his hands, speaking for the first time since they had arrived. “Let's do this.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: isolation, hints of abuse, bit of body horror, injuries.  
> I think that's it, but let me know if I need to add anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what time this is set in, just think 'back then' when you read it. 
> 
> CWs in the end notes.

The first thing Martin did once the conversation concluded was take off his chest bindings. After all his running around, the tightly woven fabric had started constricting him past the usual discomfort. Not wanting to expose himself to his companions, he made his excuses and headed off into a private corner in the library. He had gotten quite good at lying over the years, and he didn’t think Tim or Sasha suspected anything. 

They believed that he wanted to be alone for a minute, some time to collect his thoughts, as he had told them. This was not entirely untrue; in fact, it _was_ something he needed to do. This was not possible, however, as he did not have the means to do so. A pen, such a simple tool that most took for granted. He did not have one, and that meant his words lacked a vessel to bring them into reality. 

The fog, the spotlight moon, and everything else all bunched together into a mess of words that he wanted to untangle. It was not stanzas and rhymes that configured themselves in his mind; no, those came later with thought and practice. What filled his mind were describing words, every single one he had learned to build a picture around his thoughts. It was a lot to think about at once, and he needed an outlet for it all.

It was very frustrating, and the discomfort lining his chest was not helping. He walked faster, weaving between bookshelves and randomly stacked piles of papers. One pat of his pocket was enough to calm him some, the familiar weight of his book giving him comfort. It was useless now, without a pen, but it held a sentimentality he hadn’t been able to shake. After that had happened recently, he had nearly forgotten it. It felt as though a-- a fog had cleared in his mind. 

The journal he had spent so much time on was still there, despite his momentary lapse in memory. He was not alone in this world as long as he had his words, and he must remember that lest the Lukas’ return. It was a sure thing that they would; Peter Lukas had promised it himself. Martin may have escaped their hold once, but they would be working harder to pull him into their fog the next time they met. Tim and Sasha were nice to be around, sure, and they helped ground him to the world, but nothing would work so well as his book.

It was a small thing, leather-bound and tied together loosely with a loop of cord. Martin had not made it himself, but the poor craftsmanship made it look as such. He had bought it cheap from one of the venders in town, and he spent most of his days perfecting a small enough script so that it would not fill too quickly. The pages were a mess of thoughts, some strung together and others not. It was as disorganized as he was, and it made him feel safe.

He thought back on his last conversation with Sasha once he made it to a far corner of the library. Martin had asked her for a pen, hoping to write as he desperately needed to. She had denied him this wish, as she had none that still worked. At first, Martin had been quite curious; a librarian without a pen, what a strange thought. Then, she had muttered something about using them all up, and he was reminded of how long she had been stuck in this place.

There wasn’t a number he could bring to mind, as he didn’t think Tim or Sasha knew for sure themselves, but it had surely been a long time. Martin couldn’t imagine being in one place for so long, and he understood the escape writing could be. He parted from the others with a whispered apology, but Sasha only waved him off, saying it was alright.

It did not feel as such, and Martin couldn’t help feeling sorry for trudging up bad memories. Sasha obviously hadn't wanted to talk about it, and he had pushed her all because he wanted to write some stupid poems. Martin shook his head against the thoughts, sighing. He needed to take Sasha’s words seriously. She wouldn't lie, and if she said she was fine, then she was. 

That was what he told himself as he put his back to the room. Although he was concealed from sight from the shelves and walls, he couldn’t help but feel exposed. With his shirt off, his bindings and the extra skin they covered would be a sure sign of what he was. If Tim or Sasha came looking for him, they would see, and they would hate just like everyone else. Just like his mother. 

He unwrapped the bindings quickly, taking deep breaths as his lungs unconstricted. Harsh red lines showed where he had wrapped the cloth too tightly, and his ribs ached as his heart pounded. Blood flowed back into the spots he covered, and he winced at the feeling. Martin did not spare himself another glance as he pulled his top back over his head. The loss of the bindings was unavoidable, and he winced once more as the dry fabric shifted over his front. 

It was majorly uncomfortable, and he hunched to get rid of the feeling. His shirt was not tight, but it wasn’t exactly flowing either. He would have to stay positioned like this if he wanted to get away with not wearing his bindings. A crick in his back would not help the pain already felt in his upper half, but Martin didn’t think he had much of a choice.

He stayed there for some time, not bothering to count the seconds. His head hit the wall in front of him, and he leaned onto it for support as his breathing evened out. His lungs felt as though they had been squeezed dry in his chest, unable to pump enough oxygen into his body. The lightheadedness did not go away for quite a while, and Martin wondered how he had lasted so long with his chest screaming at him so.

When his eyes opened, he was hit once more by the darkness of the room. Sasha must have closed the blinds, as not even moonlight seeped in through the windows. The corner felt more oppressive, now, the walls closing in on either side of him and holding him tight. He thought of the fog, clutching him like a blanket. Soft voices filtered through his ears, ones Martin believed he had left behind. Peter Lukas’ was the loudest, and his mouth wobbled with the force of it.

He was going to cry, he thought distantly. Emotions felt so distant now, and crying would be such a hardship. It was not a _manly_ thing to do, either. Never once had he seen his father cry, nor anyone else for that matter. So, he would not do it. His eyes closed, and he breathed deeply, drinking in the fog and the voices.

It was Tim that brought him back into reality, his voice loud and false. Martin knew that the man was heartbroken; who wouldn’t be in the face of their brother’s untimely end? He covered it well, or he might have to anyone who hadn’t mastered the art themselves. Sasha understood it, too, Martin thought. With her weary eyes, her drawn eyebrows and hunched figure gave it away. In some ways, the three of them were the same. Knowing that gave Martin hope that they would make it through this, together in understanding and sorrow.

He left those blackened corners, waving the fear and safety of it behind, choosing instead to face his companions. It felt different walking among them, now. He had never been able to forget the things on his chest completely, but his bindings had provided some semblance of normalcy. He looked like Tim at first glance, a regular man with a regular body. Now, though, he was different. Sasha, a lady in mind and body, would sniff him out like a bloodhound. 

She would see his hunch and know what he was hiding so desperately. Years and years of being different and knowing that he was an alien amongst his peers weighed heavy on his shoulders. Martin could not stall any more, though, as he had been gone too long, and he didn’t want the others to worry.

With a gulp of air, he entered the room, trying to look casual. Tim and Sasha were lounging together on the floor, backs against the desk as they talked. They looked at each other, unblinking and taking in every detail. Their stares were filled with a love that had been buried under years of going unspoken, but Martin was not sure if it was romantic or not. 

Their hands were clasped between them, casual as though they had done it one-hundred times. Martin felt like an imposter all over again, and he cleared his throat. Two sets of eyes were on him at once, and he shrunk further. The situation did not seem to bother his companions, and they waved him over without a second thought. Sasha spoke quickly, ideas and plans rushing out in a fluent tide. Her accent was nice, Martin noted, so similar to Tim’s that it was nearly impossible for them not to have grown up around each other.

He tried to convince himself that he was listening as she spoke, but this was not true. His sleep-deprived brain could only filter the pleasant sounds of it, barely registering the words. It was with great trouble that he pulled the fog out of his ears. It did not want him to hear what she said, as him being unable to understand her would be another disconnect. He was not alone, though, and her words were quite important.

Martin tuned in just in time for a bit of explanation, and he put everything into staying present. “I am mostly safe here,” Sasha said. It was nearly a relief, but then she continued. “You two, however, are very much not. This is my… domain, and I can provide a bit of protection against them, but you can still be harmed if caught.”

Sasha’s eyes were downcast, focused on the hand she held in her own. She was frowning, and Martin thought he saw some guilt in her expression. This was not acceptable, and he rushed to fix it. “This-- This is their fault. I assume they are the ones trapping you here, and that falls on no one in this room.” Distantly, he wondered who ‘they’ were, but the thought was swept away with a wave of others.

“I suppose so,” Sasha said, catching Martin and Tim’s eyes one after the other. She straightened her back, tightening her hand around Tim’s so that her knuckles were white. “No, you’re right. Okay, game plan, then.” 

“They will come here,” she continued, “but I have a way to distract them. There-- There probably isn’t any time to explain, as they will get here very soon. I-- I ask that you trust me. The person you meet at the end of this is still-- is still me. Just different.” The curious and nervous looks on their faces made Sasha run her hands through her hair. “Look, it’s been a long time, Tim. I’m different as you are different, just a little bit to the left. And Martin, you barely know me. Neither of you has much reason to trust me, really, but I swear, no harm that I can prevent will come to you.”

“Sash…” Tim leaned forward, face very serious. “Whatever you plan to do sounds dangerous. We should go now before they come. You’ll be safe, and we can-- we’ll be out of this place. Martin knows a way out, and we can be long gone by the time they get here.”

“No,” Sasha said, shaking her head and withdrawing her hand from Tim’s so she can clench it into a fist. “No, we can’t. You’ve been locked in that bloody bar for so long, Tim, and a lot has changed. They are more powerful now, and-- and so am I. There are things I can do now that I’ve changed, and we have a chance at making it out of here without them on our tail. You just need to trust me. I can do this.”

“You--” Tim paused to take a breath. “You better be careful.” 

Sasha’s face did not crack into a triumphant smile, but it was a close thing. She swatted Tim’s arm, expression falsely nonchalant. “You know I will be.” 

Once again, Martin felt like the intruder in a private moment. He tried to quietly lean into the shadows, but the reminder of fog and isolation kept him from disappearing completely. His goal when escaping the Lukas' had been to make connections. This was his chance, and he was blowing it because he was better at written words than spoken ones. No, he would not do this to himself, not again. 

“What should we do, then?” He asked, eyes locked onto the angle of the desk behind both of their heads. 

“You will sit in my office, quieter than mice, and let me handle it.” Sasha sent Tim a dangerous look when he opened his mouth to protest. “No matter what you hear or see, you will stay in there, and you will not come out.”

“I, for one, do _not_ agree to those terms.” Tim said, “If whoever came here for us tries to kill you, then you bloody well know that I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Nor I,” Martin said, as if his words meant anything to the woman he had just met not thirty minutes ago.

“And I appreciate that, but you just got out, Tim. I won’t let you be taken back. Not to that.” Her voice went quiet. “Danny escaped too many times, and you know what they did to him.”

Tim’s expression changed twice in quick succession. First, he was outraged, eyes blazing and face drawn with tension. Next, he was sad, absolutely resigned with his fate. It was not a nice thing to see, and Martin filed away some phrases he could use to describe for later. Damn, his notebook would be filled once he found a pen; he just knew it.

“Alright, then,” Tim said, sounding deathly calm. “Best hide.”

“Yes,” Sasha whispered, “Yes, you should.”

And so, they went. The only other room in the library was the office, and it was a mess, much like the rest of the place. Papers were stacked in large piles on and around the desk, nearly covered in red and black ink. The words on them might have been legible to someone who wasn’t so tired, but Martin was dead on his feet, and he didn’t bother deciphering the glyphs. 

They did not speak as they settled on the floor of the office, gathered in a tight circle in the small room. The desk stood before them, looking larger now that they were lower on the ground. It concealed them from the window on the door, keeping them safe from any eyes that might wander inside. This did not last long before a series of knocks sounded from the front door.

Sasha sat bolt upright, her back cracking against the movement. She exhaled slowly and said, “Come on, don’t whine about it,” under her breath. Martin thought this to be a strange pep talk but was too scared to speak, so he did not question it. As she stood up from the ground, her hair shortened in length and turned brown. She grew in height, her lightened skin stretching over growing bones. If Martin hadn’t seen the wooden men and the crowd of unseeing people, he might not have believed in the stability of his mind. 

Instead of thinking himself insane, though, he only felt fear. The look Not Sasha threw over her shoulder at them was not scared or reassuring. She smiled wickedly at them with a face that was not her own, waving with too long fingers before slipping out of the room. Tim was stock still next to him, and Martin leaned against the man in support. He was reassured when Tim leaned right back, his only means of providing comfort having been accepted.

When the creak of the front door opening broke the silence, the woodman reached over and grabbed Martin’s hand in a tight grip. He put his hand over Tim's, holding his breath as the person looking for them approached. His eyes closed off of their own accord, and he strained his ears to hear everything that was happening outside in the main room. 

The voices were loud and strange, seeping through the thin walls. The first one was sickly sweet, high pitch like the screech of a record player’s needle moving in the wrong direction. It was the previously named ‘they’, the one Sasha promised to protect them from. “Sasha, _dear_ ,” they said, “So good to see you. Been too long, really, I’ve been worried.”

“Oh, come on, Nik.” Sasha did not sound like herself, but she didn’t look the part either, so it should have been expected. “You don’t care. I know what you’re here for.”

The person, Nik, hummed thoughtfully, “Yes, I suppose you do.” There was the tapping of boney knuckles on a hard surface, and they spoke again. “Now, are you going to let me in? I would rather not be outside for this conversation.”

“It will hardly be a conversation, as there is not much to be said.” Martin could hear the roll in Not Sasha’s eyes as she sighed. “Fine, yes. Come in.”

“ _Thank_ you, dear.” The footsteps were so quiet that Martin nearly missed them. It unsettled him. Not hearing when the person moved meant he didn't know if they were close to the office. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Sasha scoffed again, “The other one doesn’t like it. People being in here makes her antsy.”

“Yes, well…” Nik laughed, “She’s not the one making the decisions, is she? _You_ don’t mind me being here, right, love?” There was a pause, and Martin, getting a grasp on this New Sasha’s personality, could see the dry look she was sending Nik. This did not seem to bother them, and they continued, voice harsher. “I know they were here, but I don’t see them or blood, so what happened?”

“I took care of it; what else would I do?” Sasha’s steps were heavy, and Martin was glad to finally have a location pinpointed. “Killing them would have been messy. They’re probably long gone by now.”

“Oh? And how did they escape our notice? We would have seen them if they had left your shop.”

Sasha hummed, shifting lightly on her feet. “I… Might have made a deal with them.” She was good at acting, Martin would give her that. “I gave them protection, and they gave me pens.”

Nik did not respond for a second, and they sounded angry when they spoke again. “You _idiot,_ of course, you did. _Shit_.” There was a bang, and something hit the wall separating the office from the main library. “They were targets, you must have known that. You’ve always been on your own goddamned side, even though we’re your _family_.”

“You guys are something, but you’ll never be my fucking family.” Sasha’s voice was thick and choked as if her air was cut off. Martin grabbed at Tim when the man went to stand up, shaking his head. “You have always known that. What I want to know is why you chose to care now despite every other time you let it slide.”

“Those _other_ times, you didn’t let two very dangerous people free to make trouble all for a few _pens _.”__

__“Don't talk like you know anything about that. What else am I to do in this wretched place? Writing is the only thing you guys left me the freedom to do.” There was another bang. “I didn’t think I would have to remind you, Nik. This is _my_ domain, no matter how much I hate it. _You don’t have power here.__ _

__“No, Sasha, love. I don’t. But you will have to leave eventually, just like you always do. You won’t be safe from me then, I assure you.” Nikola cleared her throat, “I believe I’ll go, now. Watch your back the next time you go to get more books.”_ _

__Her steps were not so light, now, and Martin could hear Nikola stomping out of the room like an angry child. The door slammed, and Not Sasha let out an explosive sigh. There were a few minutes of absolute silence, where the three of them stayed still as stalks of corn in opposite rooms. None of them trusted Nikola not to come storming back into the room, guns blazing. Finally, once Sasha felt it was safe enough, she opened the door to the office._ _

__Her face was blank as she stared them down, eyes scanning over them and taking in every minuscule detail. Martin brought his shoulders up, hoping to hide the-- the things on his chest from her detailed search. This did not end for quite a while, and the silence was loud in their ears. Martin glanced at Tim, but his eyes were locked on the person that shouldn’t be Sasha._ _

__Finally, Sasha broke the stillness.“God,” she groaned, wiping her hands over her face and rubbing her eyes roughly. “Why are we doing this?” She looked at the ceiling as she said this, and Martin got the impression she wasn’t talking to either of them. There was a moment before she spoke again. “Yes, I understand that, but sentiment doesn’t mean we should fucking die for them. Jesus, if we don’t escape, then Nik’s gonna kill us; you understand that, right?.”_ _

__Another pause, longer this time. “That’s a shitty plan, and you know it.” Sasha paced as the voice in her head-- the other Sasha?-- spoke to her. It was deeply disturbing, and if she had gotten caught doing something like that in Martin’s town, she would have been sent to the madhouse. “No, no, I understand that--” She cut herself off, becoming more agitated. “-- Okay, it might be our only option, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”_ _

__She rolled her eyes, chuckling softly. “Yes, of course, it’s for fun, dear. You should see their faces. Hilarious.” Not Sasha laughed again, looking at them now as she listened to whoever was speaking to her. “No, that's not happening. It was the end of your shift, anyway. It’s my turn.”_ _

__Finally, she addressed them for real. “You really chose a bad time to come over.” She rolled her eyes again, retreating back into her head. “No of course I don’t want to handle it, but I will if it means I’m not stuck in _there_ for a minute longer. Sucks to suck.” Martin didn’t think he had ever heard a lady speak so bluntly, but there was a first time for everything, he guessed. _ _

__“You-- You’re not Sasha,” Tim said, braver than Martin was._ _

__Sasha turned the force of her gaze on him, looking at the wooden man with glinting eyes. “I am as much Sasha as she is me. We are one, dear.”_ _

__“That’s her you’re talking to?”_ _

__“Oh, yes. She’s quite _chatty_ , even when I have the body.” Real Sasha seemed to take offence to this, as Not Sasha laughed. “Shut up, hon.”_ _

__“You-- You--” Martin spluttered. “Give her back.”_ _

__“That’s rude, really. I thought we could be _friends_.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I did save your lives, didn’t I?”_ _

__“I-- Well-- Yes, y-you did.” Martin shook his head, “But we-- we need the real Sasha for our plan._ _

__“She’s right here, darling,” the not Sasha waved to encompass her body, “Just a bit different. I know everything she knows, and I have the extra oomph of power you need. She knew from the start that it would be me leading you losers out of here; she just didn’t want to admit it.” She shook her head, smirking, “Don’t deny it, hon.”_ _

__“Besides,” she continued, looking at them now, “It was my turn anyway.”_ _

__“Your turn with the… the body?” Tim’s voice sounded strained, and there was a distraught look in his eyes._ _

__“Yup,” Sasha said, popping the p. “Don’t look so excited to see me, dear.”_ _

__“S-sorry,” Martin said after a pause, shoulders slumping. “It’s just-- we weren’t expecting this, is all.”_ _

__“I believe that’s the point, dear. This town loves to do the unexpected.” She narrowed her eyes at Martin. “Speaking of which, you are _quite_ the surprise. We haven’t had visitors in-- well, ever, really.”_ _

__“I-- I don’t know what you want me to say.” Martin ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have the faintest idea about what’s happening. These past few hours, or however long it’s been, have been absolute shit--” Sasha wasn’t being overly respectful, so he didn’t think he had to either. “-- and all of this is one huge _mistake_. I just wanted to go _home, and then the Lukas’--”__ _

___He cut himself off with a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. In the darkness, coiling fog crept across his eyelids, and Martin blinked, shaking his head. “Fuck.”_ _ _

___“Indeed, dear,” Sasha said. “Sounds like you’ve had quite the day, or-- whatever. Time is weird.”_ _ _

___Martin scoffed, suddenly feeling drained. “Indeed," he said sarcastically. “Do we have to leave right now? I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve slept, and I would very much like to.” Tim looked dead on his feet as well, slumped against the wall as he was._ _ _

___Sasha bit the inside of her cheek, thinking. “We probably shouldn’t leave for a while, anyway. They’re still watching my shop, and my protection can only go so far.”_ _ _

___“So that's real, then?” Martin asked. “The protection bit?”_ _ _

___Sasha inclined her head, “Mhm.” She walked further into the room, rummaging through some papers. “I don’t sleep as often as you will need to, so you get some rest while I prepare everything.”_ _ _

___“I, erm, may not need to sleep either. Haven’t done it in years.”_ _ _

___Martin frowned at Tim, watching the other for the obvious signs of sleep deprivation he had seen earlier. “All the more reason to try. It’ll be good for you.”_ _ _

___Tim did not respond with words, only nodding with a resigned look on his face. Since Sasha didn’t sleep much, there weren’t any beds in the library. This was not her home, merely a domain to her, and it was very evident. Martin saw it in the way she looked at the shelves of books as though they had hurt her deeply. He supposed resentment came with the territory of being trapped somewhere._ _ _

___So, he and Tim laid down on the floor of the office. They couldn't stretch out much, what with the area being covered in paper. The hardwood was not kind on his already aching ribs, but comfort wasn’t much of an option. The library seemed to be void of blankets and pillows as well, so Martin expected to be sore all over when he woke up._ _ _

___Luckily enough, he was exhausted to the point of falling over, and sleep came easy despite the circumstances. He was not spared in his dreams, though, and his mind put everything that had happened and mushed it into one horrible nightmare. Spotlights shined on him from above, lighting up every flaw and feature that he tried so hard to not think about. Faces stared at him from below the stage he stood on, the same ones that had watched Tim and his brother for so long._ _ _

___His limbs were locked together, and he was unable to move. The crowd was silent as they looked at him, their faces blank apart from the stony glares they were giving him. It was the same stare he earned from his mother every time he entered her field of vision. Despite everything, he missed her, and the glare was so familiar that he cried, heavy tears that dripped down his face, silent as an empty street at night._ _ _

___Laughter sprang up in the crowd, one by one, the people dissolving into hysterics at his mere presence. He could only stand there as he was scrutinized, everyone in that room knowing who and what he was, the deepest secrets of his mind shown to all. His poetry, who had never seen eyes other than his own, was displayed openly. The crowd viewed it with harsh eyes and laughed at his mediocre writing._ _ _

___The crowd found his poor performance hilarious; the fact that he thought himself to pass as a man was a joke to them. Jeers were shouted, every word his mother had used to describe him repeated again and again, all at once. _Disgrace, worthless, idiot, useless,_ the list went on._ _ _

___As his body awoke from sleep, his mind withdrew from the dream. Fog seeped into the room from the mouths and eyes of the people in the crowd. Their laughter faded into nothing as it took every ounce of happiness from them. It coiled around Martin’s shoulders, squeezing him tight. His oxygen was cut off as it wrapped around his neck._ _ _

___His eyes shut in the theatre and opened in the library. Fog clung to the corners of the room, but he did not close his eyes again in fear of going back to that place. Tim’s legs were thrown over his own, having kicked out while the man slept. The heat of them helped Martin come back to himself, and the fog left the room in wisps._ _ _

___Sasha sat in her desk chair, watching him with a curious gaze. Suddenly, he was very aware of the wet on his cheeks. Martin sat up and turned away, embarrassed. Sasha did not say a word as he wiped his face, clearing the evidence of his nightmare away. It was only a dream, he told himself. She didn’t know, Tim didn’t know, and his secret was safe. His desperation made him sure of it._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: Body dysphoria due to Martin being trans, self-deprecating thoughts and feelings, dissociation (I think. I don't have experience with this, so let me know if I'm wrong), cursing, referenced abuse, a small bit of violence (not described in detail). 
> 
> Let me know if I need to add anything else.


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